What It Used To Be
by bj
Summary: Consciousverse. Andy dies. Ephram slouches back into Everwood. Gratuitous flashbacks ensue.


it's: what it used to be  
by: bj  
in sum: he'd forgotten the real world doesn't work at all in everwood.  
label: ephram. ephram/colin. eventually.  
rating: pg13.  
sissies: it's futurefic, and it's au. no spoilers.  
disclaimer: don't own, don't sue.  
i say: futurefic. consciousverse, shortly after andy's death. has some ephram/oc mentions, as well as canon pairings. thanks to meg for telling me to keep looking for an ending.  
muse: "a rush of blood to the head" by coldplay. "house of smoke and mirrors" by matthew good. "lay it down" by cowboy junkies.  
you say: all comments appreciated, answered, and archived. allcanadiangirl@lycos.com.

  
**what it used to be**

The first rock was hard. It was hard to pick it up and it was hard to throw. The sound of Delia's bedroom window breaking cut through the burn of alcohol in his head and made the second rock easy. He hefted it, it was the same size as his fist, and as he walked around the house he flexed his fingers over it. He wound up and shattered the window of his father's study.  
  
The third rock fits lovingly in his hand and he knows it is for his own window.  
  
He steps onto the path and walks around the front of the house. He looks up, he thinks of all the times he climbed out of it and how much easier it would have been to break it in the first place. He swings his arm back, and the rock slides from his fingers. It hits the walk with a chipped, rocky sound.  
  
"Fuck," he says. He likes the sound of it in the grey afternoon. "Fuck!" he yells.  
  
A middle-aged woman steps onto the porch next door, a cordless phone at her ear. He grins at her. "Hey," he calls. "Nina! Hi!"  
  
She turns away and goes back inside, a hand at her mouth. "Fuck you, too," he mutters.  
  
He looks at his rental car at the curb. He'd driven up from Denver and come straight here. He'd sat in the car drinking vodka, staring at the house.  
  
He'd thought of his father standing, clutching at his head, and falling, and falling to the floor of an empty house.  
  
He'd constructed several ironies about a neurosurgeon dying of an aneurysm. He'd laughed bitterly to himself. "This fucking town kills everything," he'd said to the empty car. "I don't even know why I came back."  
  
Standing on the front walk he knows why he came back. He came back for the house. Delia's hand was on his arm as the lawyer told him he owned it. He'd laughed then, too. He couldn't believe it.  
  
It's his.  
  
His to break.  
  
She hadn't wanted him to go. "Please, Ephram," she had said. "You can come stay with me for a while. Don't go out there."  
  
He had pushed her away. He had saluted the box of ashes on her mantle and bought a plane ticket. He knew his father had expected this.  
  
He bends, one arm out for balance, and picks the rock up again. He stands straight, he stares. His to break. He pulls his arm back, lifting a leg for extra momentum.  
  
Somebody says, "Hey, man," and a hand takes the rock from him. He turns, a little shaky, ready to throw a punch in place of the rock.  
  
The man is wearing a brown Stetson with the county badge on it. He's wearing a brown coat with the county badge on it. His nametag says "Deputy Hart."  
  
The man looks at the rock in his hand. "Ephram Brown?" he asks, giving him a sad smile.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The man-it can't be Colin, the real world doesn't work that way-sighs. "You don't recognise me."  
  
"No." Ephram shakes his head. He'd forgotten the real world doesn't work at all in Everwood. "I mean. I do. Colin. Hi."  
  
Colin nods and looks past Ephram to the house. "Sorry about your dad," he says. His voice is rough. "Everybody misses him."  
  
Everybody. Ephram is pretty sure that in the last three weeks he hasn't been sober enough to miss him. "Yeah."  
  
Colin turns the rock over in his hand. "What are you doing out here, Ephram?"  
  
He shrugs. "Taking care of some business."  
  
Colin's mouth twitches. "Right." He tosses the rock into a stand of shrubs in the corner of the yard. "How about we go inside?"  
  
He hadn't thought about going inside. He'd just wanted to break every window he could find, get back in the car, and drive back to the airport. He'd just wanted to blind the house and shatter whatever happy memories the town had of it.  
  
Delia in his face at the elevator. "You're making a mistake," she said. "You shouldn't do this."  
  
"What should I do?" he shouted. "What should I do? Should I stay here and worship his mortal remains in that fucking box? Should I stay here and let you pretend we're still kids and everything's still fine? He's dead, he's dead. He's fucking dead."  
  
He pushed her out of the elevator and went down alone.  
  
He unlocks the front door. It swings open.  
  
Colin is close behind him. "He was right there," he says quietly. "I found him."  
  
Ephram steps over the threshold and walks around the edge of the hallway, unbuttoning his coat. He looks down at the floor, wondering if there ought to be a chalk outline or something. "Right here?"  
  
Colin comes inside and closes the door. "Yeah. Nina called me after he didn't answer the door or the phone for a couple days."  
  
"Nina calls you a lot."  
  
There's that sad smile again. Ephram doesn't understand it.  
  
He imagines his father's body on the hardwood, slacked and cardiganed, growing cold and hard and then warm and soft. He's glad it happened in the spring. He walks all the way through the house to the kitchen to put his jacket on the island, just like he used to.  
  
Colin follows silently. He takes his hat off and sets it beside Ephram's coat.  
  
Ephram looks in a couple of cupboards, then takes a box of coffee filters down. He opens the fridge and takes a Tupperware container of coffee from the door. He pulls the coffee maker out of the corner.  
  
Colin leans on the counter. "So," he says.  
  
Ephram smells the coffee and is suddenly a little nauseous. He remembers he's just slightly drunk. "So I'm half in the bag," he says, turning around.  
  
"I hadn't noticed," Colin says, smiling. He comes around the counter and closes the container. "I don't drink coffee," he says. "And you really don't need any."  
  
A drunk on caffeine is not sober, just wide-awake. Ephram knows that. "Yeah."  
  
He'd gone with Delia to pick up the ashes. She had tucked them close to her, hugging them as if it were the same as hugging their father. Outside the post office, he pulled a hip flask out and swigged. It was eleven in the morning. The street was crowded. Delia stood beside him, a tear running down her face, the box in her arms.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.  
  
His father on the porch as he loaded box after box into his truck. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"I need to get out of here," he said.  
  
His father closed his eyes, he was hurt and confused. Ephram couldn't say it, he couldn't say he'd fucked up so spectacularly in Everwood he wanted to try it somewhere else. He couldn't say he was tired of driving to Denver with the excuse of teaching piano when all he did was hop clubs and suck dick. He couldn't say he hated himself for staying behind when Colin was smart enough, strong enough to leave.  
  
"I need to get out of here," he said.  
  
Delia shook her head, her long hair brushing the box. "You can't leave me like this."  
  
"We're not conjoined, for fuck's sake!"  
  
And she closed her eyes and he walked away.  
  
"A cop who doesn't drink coffee," Ephram says. "You dunk your crullers in milk, then?"  
  
Colin smiles, really smiles. "I'm a plain old-fashioned man, actually."  
  
Ephram doesn't smile back. He wanders out of the kitchen into the family room. He sits on the couch slowly. It's a different couch, just as the coffee maker and the fridge are different, but he knows where they are. His father kept the house set the same. Just in case.  
  
Colin says, "What's it been, fifteen years? What've you been up to?"  
  
"I was in Denver for a while. Then LA. I moved back to New York a few years ago."  
  
Colin sits in the armchair. "Yeah. It was big news when Delia left to join you out west."  
  
Ephram looks up at Colin. "I guess it would be."  
  
"How's she doing?" Colin leans forward, clasps his hands between his knees.  
  
"She's good, considering."  
  
Delia was standing on his stoop when he got home from the studio. She was crying. Her face was red and chapped, the wind bitter on her wet cheeks.  
  
He pulled her inside. "What's going on?" he said. He thought it might be Saul. He thought she might have decided she didn't like her birthday present after all. She sobbed and hid her face in his shoulder.  
  
She choked on the words. She coughed it out. "Dad. He's left us."  
  
"That's good," Colin says. "How's her husband?"  
  
"They're separated."  
  
Colin nods. "I'm divorced. It's a hard thing. You?"  
  
They lasted a couple months each, years in between, six years between Corey and Ian. And there was Rachel in LA. She'd wanted to get married, he'd run as far east as he could afford to take Delia. "No. Very, um. Very single."  
  
He wants to ask who Colin married, but the answer is the same no matter what woman he chose. If Amy couldn't bind him to her for eternity with the force of her need, no one is right for anybody anymore.  
  
"Still play the piano?" Colin asks.  
  
"Yeah." Ephram squints at Colin. "Still play basketball?"  
  
Colin shrugs. "Not lately."  
  
The house is suddenly very cold. He hears the wind blowing into the broken window in the study. He puts his head in his hands. He doesn't cry. He closes his eyes. He takes deep breaths. He doesn't want to cry. He hasn't cried yet. He isn't going to cry.  
  
Colin leans toward him, hand out. "Ephram? You okay?"  
  
He hates this town. He hates this house. Everything he gave up lives here, and it's his to break. "I'll be fine," he says. "I just need to be alone right now." He gives Colin a pointed look.  
  
Colin shakes his head. "I don't think that's a good idea." He stands, going down the hall.  
  
Ephram takes two deep breaths. He folds his hands around his mouth. He needs to be alone. He doesn't even know Colin anymore. He wants him gone.  
  
He stands, determined to have his way with the house. He goes into the hallway and Colin is pressing buttons on the electronic thermostat. "I figure if you're staying here you might want some heat. You're lucky Andy was paid up through the end of the month. Water too."  
  
"No," Ephram says. "I'm not staying. I'm leaving tonight."  
  
Colin keeps pressing buttons. "Another bad idea."  
  
"Yeah," Ephram says. "It's a talent I have. What's it matter to you when I leave?"  
  
Colin taps his badge. "See here, Brown. I'm the law in this town," he says with mock bravado. "And the law says drunk old friends don't get to leave before proper catching up is done."  
  
They are not old friends. It was high school, and maybe Ephram thought there was more once or twice, but that was high school. It was high school and then Colin left for college and Ephram stayed and when Colin got back he was gone. They don't know each other now.  
  
"I'm not exactly drunk, and we did that. You're divorced, I'm single, I live in New York, you're a cop, I still play piano, you don't play basketball anymore. All caught up. Hell, Col, we could go twenty years next time."  
  
The humour in Colin's face disappears. He looks away. "You don't want to know about the Abbotts? Amy? My family? The kids from school?" He shrugs, he looks maybe a little angry. "Your dad took care of this town for twenty years, but I guess Everwood was never really home to you, right?"  
  
"You never liked it here!" Andy said, watching while Ephram packed his comic book collection. "You never liked it. You never even liked this house." He said it like an accusation, like Ephram would be ashamed.  
  
Ephram was, and he wanted to disagree, but he'd spent five years convincing everyone. He couldn't let them down at the last minute, couldn't give them the satisfaction. "I never did, Dad."  
  
"Not really," he says to Colin. "But if you want to tell me how the soap opera's been going, have at."  
  
He waits for a moment, but Colin doesn't say anything, he just stares, like Ephram unzipped his skin to reveal a total stranger. Ephram wants to tell him he was always a stranger. Instead he says, "What's the problem now?"  
  
Colin steps forward. Colin puts his arms around Ephram and hugs him. "Where've you been, man?" he asks.  
  
It's the alcohol that makes him want to cry. Ephram tries to shake the tears back down his throat. He stares over Colin's shoulder and leaves his arms at his sides, he breathes through his mouth and doesn't think about how Colin smells the same.  
  
Colin squeezes. "Ephram?"  
  
The first tear is warm and sluggish, it burns his cheek. He blinks, watching the floor where his father fell. The foyer spangles, he feels his stomach roll. "I'm okay," he says.  
  
Colin laughs into his ear. Ephram knows he sounds ridiculous. "We missed you, you know. You didn't even say goodbye."  
  
Sitting on the front steps. Delia slid down beside him. She leaned on him. "Are you even going to say goodbye?" she asked.  
  
He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. "Nobody's in town," he said. Delia moved away from him, wrinkling her nose.  
  
"Amy's here."  
  
"I already told her."  
  
"When?"  
  
"I left a message on her voicemail."  
  
She reached across and smacked him on the back of the head. "That doesn't count."  
  
"Ow? A detailed message."  
  
She frowned, entirely unamused. "I'm sorry, but. You're not being fair."  
  
"Fair. Right."  
  
Brad flushing the condom, telling him he needed to decide which Ephram Brown he wanted to be, telling him he wasn't being fair to himself.  
  
"They're your friends," she said. "You should stop acting like an asshole."  
  
"Don't swear. Maybe I am an asshole, okay?"  
  
The way she stared at him as he threw his cigarette in the rhododendron and walked to his truck.  
  
Hunger and alcohol lurch into his throat. He pushes Colin away, he stumbles to the washroom. The process is familiar: flip the seat up with one hand, tug his collar open with the other, kick the door shut, grab the bowl and let it go.  
  
Pull a towel down with one hand, flush with the other, lean against the side of the tub. Slowly his breath comes back. There is a knock on the door.  
  
"Ephram?"  
  
He takes the towel from his mouth. "Yeah. You can go now." His voice is hoarse, his throat burns.  
  
The door cracks open an inch, and then swings into the room. Colin looks down at him for a long moment, Ephram can't meet his eyes. He wants to say something about trespass and calling the police, but he hasn't got the strength anymore. Colin steps onto the tile. He takes a washcloth from the edge of the sink and runs water over it. He comes down beside Ephram and wipes his forehead.  
  
"How much have you been drinking?" he asks.  
  
Ephram shrugs. "Probably too much." He takes the cloth from Colin's hand, it hurts to have someone take care of him. "Actually. Definitely too much."  
  
Colin sits back against the tub, an arm behind Ephram's shoulders. "When was the last time you ate?"  
  
"This morning," he says. He doesn't say it was only half a bagel or that it had been at least forty-eight hours between that and the previous meal.  
  
Colin sighs. "I don't believe you. You look like shit, man."  
  
Ephram tries not to think at least he's looking. "Yeah. Not bad for thirty-something."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Beyond the obvious? Nothing."  
  
"Bullshit," Colin says.  
  
Ephram pulls away. He tries to get up, but Colin pulls him back down. Colin holds his arms and shakes him once. "Ephram. It's me."  
  
Ephram laughs. "Oh, it's you," he says bitterly. "I don't know you, I have no idea who you are. You just happen to have the same name as this guy I went to high school with."  
  
Colin gives him that look again, the stranger look. He shakes his head. "No. I am the guy you went to high school with, I haven't changed, and I thought you were my friend. I could talk to you, and you listened. I don't think you know how much that meant to me. You didn't have to be there. I talked to you, but I never realised you didn't talk to me. Talk to me now."  
  
When Ephram doesn't say anything, Colin hugs him again. "I owe you so much," he says.  
  
"You owe me one," Delia said, hanging up the phone. "Though, if you ask me, reality tv is a pretty lame excuse."  
  
Ephram ignored her and changed the channel.  
  
"Why don't you want to see them?" she said, sitting beside him on the sofa. "They've been gone for three months. You haven't seen them since Christmas."  
  
"I know when I saw them," he said. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table and got up. "Tell Dad I'm going out."  
  
Delia followed him into the foyer and watched him put on his coat. "You're not driving all the way into Denver again, are you?"  
  
He glared at her. "Fuck off, will you? It's none of your business where I go."  
  
She glared back. "Fuck you. I worry."  
  
"Don't swear," he said automatically. "And don't worry. I can take care of myself."  
  
"You really can't. That's why I worry," she said quietly.  
  
He pulled her close, even though she stood stiff and angry. "You're the kid here," he reminded her. "I'll be fine." He knew it was a lie, and suspected she did too.  
  
And he finds he has embraced Colin, has pressed his face to Colin's shoulder. He can taste his own tears. "I missed you too," he says. He hates that he means only Colin, not the rest of them.  
  
But he didn't miss them, he reminds himself. He didn't miss any of them, their petty perfect lives, the way they never questioned anything, the way they paired off like ducks and expected him to quack in turn.  
  
He didn't miss driving to Old Springs for pizza at one in the morning on a Saturday night, sitting on the side of the road with pepperoni breath, listening to Colin and Bright argue about college scouts, joking with Amy about going commando for commencement.  
  
He didn't miss Colin dropping him off last, he didn't miss wanting with his whole being to kiss him goodnight.  
  
Colin pats his back, tilts his head so he can look Ephram in the eye, their foreheads bump together. "Are you ready to talk now?"  
  
There must be a way out of this. "You're not on duty or something? Serve, protect, y'know."  
  
Colin pulls away, Ephram's arms drop reluctantly back to his sides. "Nope. Shift's over." He stands and holds a hand out to help Ephram to his feet. "Lucky for you."  
  
Ephram grabs the edge of the tub and pushes himself up. "Lucky. Right."  
  
Unfazed, Colin shoves Ephram out of the bathroom and back towards the kitchen. He presses Ephram against the island and says, "How about some food?" He takes his coat off, laying it beside Ephram's, and starts opening cupboards. "What do you want?"  
  
"Toast," Ephram says, the first thing that he thinks of. Just to get this over with, make his plane at eight o'clock.  
  
Colin glances over his shoulder. "You really think there'll be edible bread in this house? It's been three weeks."  
  
"Freezer," Ephram says.  
  
Looking sceptical, Colin opens the freezer side of the refrigerator. A shelf is stacked with plastic-wrapped loaves of white bread. Colin pulls one out and shuts the door. "I've eaten dinner here a thousand times," he says. "And I never knew that."  
  
"I lived with him for twenty years," Ephram replies. "Don't feel too bad."  
  
Colin breaks four slices off the loaf and puts them in the toaster, also new, also right beside the microwave, exactly where the toaster has been since they moved in.  
  
"Did." Ephram's question sticks in his mouth. Colin raises his eyebrows.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Did he." He knows the answer, but it's still the hardest thing he's ever asked. "Did he miss us? A lot?"  
  
"Delia visited," Colin says. "He missed you."  
  
Delia came back. He should have known. "Fuck."  
  
Colin leans on the counter, expression pained and sympathetic. "Did you miss him?"  
  
Ephram puts his face in his hands. "No," he says. "Not for a long time. Then. Then it was too late, I'd been gone too long. He wouldn't-he wouldn't have wanted me back."  
  
Out loud, it sounds even more foolish than in his head.  
  
He expects Colin to say as much, but there is only silence until the toaster dings and pops. Ephram closes his eyes against his hands and listens as Colin takes down plates and takes out knives and puts the toast on the counter. Colin pulls margarine and jam and peanut butter from the fridge and adds them to the spread. He hears Colin drag a stool around the other side of the island and sit.  
  
He drops his hands when he hears the dry rasp of knife over toast. "Well?" he says.  
  
Colin doesn't look at him. "You know how stupid that is. I don't know what else to say."  
  
Ephram stares at his plate for a while. "I was trying to be honest."  
  
Colin slaps a last glob of strawberry jam on his peanut butter-slathered toast. "Yeah. It's still stupid."  
  
Colin takes a bite and chews, watching him.  
  
"What do you owe me?" Ephram asks, tearing his dry toast into bite-size pieces.  
  
Colin finishes chewing. He swallows very slowly. "Well, you know, besides Amy," he says. He clears his throat, Ephram flinches. "Sometimes I think I might not have stuck around if it weren't for you."  
  
"I didn't stick around myself, if you hadn't noticed."  
  
Colin shakes his head. "I mean. I might not have stuck around at all. Like, gone." He mimes shooting himself in the temple.  
  
Ephram stares and Colin shrugs. "The first few years were difficult, painful, remember? And I was a teenager. Isn't death the answer to everything for a kid?" He points at Ephram's food. "Eat."  
  
Ephram puts a tiny piece of toast in his mouth. Death or sex, he wants to say. Death or a lot of sex. And running. Another piece of toast, then another, and he finds he's finished two slices. Colin is smiling proudly.  
  
"That wasn't so hard, was it?"  
  
Ephram doesn't answer, just pushes his plate away. Colin takes it and his own and puts them in the sink. He turns the water on and starts washing. Ephram closes his eyes in the white noise.  
  
Ephram watched the mistletoe at the Abbott Christmas party. He had a stakeout post a mere two yards from the rum punch. He counted the number of times Amy and Colin "accidentally" met in the doorway, miming shock and pleased surprise before falling into each other's arms. Nine, so far.  
  
"What are you doing?" Delia asked.  
  
He looked at her. She wore scoop-necked green velvet, her hair in a french braid, a red vinyl choker complete with bell around her neck. "What are you wearing?" he asked, poking the bell. It tinkled gently in the din of the party.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Dad said it was okay."  
  
"No, I mean. Why didn't I hear you just now?"  
  
She leaned close and whispered, "Maybe because you're plastered?"  
  
"I'm actually not. I've been pacing myself."  
  
"Yeah, like old Mr. Rutherford over there," she replied, taking his cup and pointing to the gentleman in question, who was snoring red-faced on the couch. Bright sat beside him, this visit's tanned blonde very nearly in his lap.  
  
"Delia. You know I'm a much more accomplished drinker than that hack," he said, taking his punch back.  
  
Her mouth turned sad. "I know. Dad wants you to quit for the night."  
  
"Any reason he can't come and tell me himself?"  
  
She shrugged. "I don't think so."  
  
He shrugged back. "Then I don't think I'll quit."  
  
In his peripheral he saw Amy and Colin come together again. Ten.  
  
"Please, Ephram," she said, eyes wide, one hand on his arm.  
  
"No!" he shouted. "Leave me alone!"  
  
Everybody froze and stared at him. Everybody but Colin and Amy, wrapped together under the mistletoe.  
  
"No," he says finally. "Thanks, Mom."  
  
Colin smiles. "You're welcome."  
  
Ephram grabs his coat. "I need a cigarette." He ducks out the back door before Colin can object, closing it behind him. He pulls his coat on and pats the pockets, looking for his lighter.  
  
Colin bangs the door open and is on the stairs before he sees Ephram standing at the porch railing. He shrugs sheepishly. "I thought you were running out on me."  
  
Ephram raises his eyebrows, his lighter in his teeth as he pulls out a cigarette.  
  
"I guess you know all the whys you shouldn't smoke," Colin says, coming back up the stairs. "Being a doctor's kid."  
  
Lighting the cigarette, Ephram nods. "All six thousand," he says on the exhale. "Don't care."  
  
"Is that why you left?" Colin says. "Not the smoking, exactly. Just. The control?"  
  
Ephram has a vague idea of what he's trying to say, but joking was always easier. "You're a pretty crappy therapist, you know."  
  
"I'm better with traffic tickets." Colin leans against the railing. "Seriously. Why did you leave?"  
  
"I needed to get out of here."  
  
"Why didn't you go to college, then?"  
  
"Didn't want to."  
  
"So you hung around for two years then took off with no warning."  
  
"Basically, yeah."  
  
"Was it me?" Colin asks and Ephram nearly bites the filter off his cigarette. "Not me, exactly. That me and Amy got back together?"  
  
Ephram exhales slowly. "Of course not," he says. He's pretty sure he doesn't sound convincing.  
  
"You could have had her," Colin says, reproachful. "One word, she would have come running."  
  
Ephram smirks. "Which word exactly? Not like I didn't try all of them." Except he didn't, he stopped after "please."  
  
"I don't think you did."  
  
"Think whatever you want."  
  
Colin shakes his head. "I think I was lucky you're a good friend."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I mean. I knew how you felt about her, everybody knew how you felt about her, but you never did anything about it and we're doing it again," Colin says. "I'm talking, you're listening."  
  
"Maybe that's the way we're supposed to be." Ephram turns his head, meeting Colin's eyes. "You talk, I listen."  
  
Colin looks away, squinting. "I don't want it to be that way."  
  
Ephram wants. Ephram wants his father back, but he doesn't want to want that. "I want to get the hell out of here," Ephram says, throwing the butt into the brown grass of the backyard. "We can't have everything."  
  
He turns away to go inside but Colin catches his arm. Ephram looks down at the hand, then up its arm and into the face of its owner. He's giving Ephram that shrewd, sympathetic look Ephram has always secretly hated because it is always accompanied by an astute observation which makes a mockery of all Ephram's careful hiding, careful lying.  
  
Colin says, "Stay still for a minute. Stop avoiding me," and Ephram lets himself smile a little bit. "Talk to me."  
  
Ephram sighs. "About what?"  
  
"The price of manga in Japan. Jesus, Ephram," Colin says, and Ephram smiles the whole way. "I don't care what we talk about. I never did."  
  
"I'm going to ask Amy to New Year's at the hall," Colin said in a rush.  
  
It took Ephram a moment to process the sentence, and he still wasn't sure he heard it right. "What?"  
  
Colin grinned and leaned back against the picnic table. "I'm thinking. I might ask. Amy. To the New Year's Eve party. At. The hall."  
  
Ephram blinked and emptied his beer. "Okay."  
  
"You don't mind?" Colin asked, suddenly serious.  
  
"Why," Ephram replied, forcing himself to laugh. "Why would I mind?"  
  
Colin passed him another can. "I thought you might be thinking about asking her too."  
  
"Dude." Ephram opened the beer and took a long drink. "That's so high school. I'm so over her."  
  
Smiling again, Colin said, "Yeah. Your dad thinks you've got a girl in Denver."  
  
Brad jumping into the passenger seat, leaning over for a quick grope. "He can think whatever the fuck he wants. She's all yours."  
  
"Great," Colin said, cracking himself another beer. He sighed. "I may be the world's biggest moron, going back for thirds, but damn, Ephram. She's changed since high school."  
  
"To Amy," Ephram said, lifting his can. "May she be everything you want."  
  
Laughing, Colin shouted, "To Amy!"  
  
"I really don't have time. I have to catch a plane," Ephram says. "My plane leaves at eight."  
  
Colin drops his hand and steps back without actually moving. "Right."  
  
"I have a thing tomorrow I need to be at."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Ephram doesn't know why he's making excuses, but here he is, making excuses. "It's for work. I got this commission," he says, "and there's a meeting tomorrow." He shrugs. "It's for the London Philharmonic."  
  
Colin's eyes widen. "Wow."  
  
The awe in his voice makes Ephram smile a little bitterly. "No shit."  
  
"So you need to go," Colin says after a moment.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ephram can see Colin thinking about it, deciding whether or not to press the issue. Years of watching him, his every thought, the way they skittered across his face like cobwebs, Ephram can read Colin like sheet music.  
  
"Okay," Colin says finally.  
  
They turn and go back inside, they grab their jackets, Colin carries his hat under his arm. They move back to the front of the house. At the door, Ephram takes the house key from his pocket and turns it over in his fingers.  
  
"This place," he says. "It's going to need. It's going to need watching, you know, cleaning up, all his stuff, the food."  
  
Colin nods. "Yeah."  
  
Ephram holds the key up between them. "Would you mind?"  
  
Colin looks at the key, then at the floor, then over to the spot where Andy died.  
  
"I mean," Ephram says. "You could get someone else to do it, somebody you trust, whatever. I'd be willing to pay for the service."  
  
Colin looks at him, eyes move over his face, Ephram's mouth is dry. "Yeah," Colin says. He takes the key. "But don't worry about money. Just. Something friends do for each other. Around here."  
  
Ephram swallows sand. "Okay. Thanks. A lot."  
  
He turns and his hand is on the doorknob when Colin touches his arm again. "Ephram," he says quietly, pulling him back around. Colin's fingers slide up to his shoulder. "Don't." Colin tugs him forward and Ephram opens his arms for a hug, but Colin tilts his head.  
  
Kisses him.  
  
Closed-mouthed, dry, Ephram's eyes still open. They break apart, Colin gasps, sounding surprised at himself, hand dropping away from Ephram. Doesn't open his eyes. Ephram swallows again, licks his lips and leans in, a little bit down.  
  
Kisses him.  
  
A real kiss, not one expecting a punch at the other end. And when it comes to the end, Colin will not be able to meet Ephram's eyes. He will tuck the key in his pocket.  
  
"Don't be a stranger," he will say.  
  
Ephram will tug the door open jerkily. "Don't count on it," he will say, and he won't know what he means by that.  
  
He'll walk quickly down the stairs, down the walk, he will not hear Colin behind him because Colin will still be standing in the hall. At the gate, Ephram will bend down and look in the shrub for his rock. He'll grab it and stuff it in his pocket.  
  
He'll get in his rental car and drive back to Denver. He'll break nothing but his own heart.

  
End.  
  



End file.
